Borges was not very fond of this book and it was never reprinted during his lifetime; only after his death would his widow permit it to be republished. In this essay Borges rues the lack of true heroes, of philosophers, of mystics in his homeland. He cannot comprehend the lack of stature, the underachievement of his compatriots, none of whom has produced anything to suit the greatness of a place like Buenos Aires. As he calls for greatness, though a greatness free of “criollismos”, one that can consider itself on a par with that of giants like Shaw, Lucian, Swift, and Sterne, one is charmed by the fact that he seems little to have understood that he himself was the man to fulfill his own demands. With multiple corrections and additions, signed by Borges at the close. A major early manuscript.